It Begins
by Dragonanzar
Summary: Tom Riddle murdered his father and grandparents after his sixth year at Hogwarts, blaming the deaths on his Uncle, Morfin. This is what I imagine the confrontation to be like. One-Shot.


The door opened easily. Muggle locks stood no chance against the power of magic, though his uncle's wand was awkward in his hand. Tom Marvolo Riddle stalked through the mansion, his observant eyes taking note of the grandeur and opulent magnificence. After the hovel where his pureblood ancestors lived, Riddle felt disgusted to see the muggles living in such luxury. Not that his pureblood relatives seemed to have lived up to the magnificence of their Slytherin heritage, but at least they were wizards.

Padding through the corridors with a smooth and stealthy gait, gained through long experience of sneaking at night time, Tom quickly found a room containing life. Laughter and chatter trickled out from beneath a door. Tom paused for a moment and heard a clatter of pans. The kitchen. He hesitated, wondering whether he should extinguish all life in the house, but then decided that he had a limited amount of time. He didn't want to have to come back another day or risk being caught, now did he?

Continuing through the big house, he followed a trail of lit candles and soon found what seemed to be the drawing room. Inside were three figures, talking quietly and familiarly with each other. His targets.

Tom stepped in and discretely cast a silencing ward. The figures didn't notice him until he magicked the door shut with a slam. They looked at him, startled, but their faces soon adopted masks of bored indifference. Tom noticed the similarities between his face and the one that could only be his father's. The other, older, man in the room was highly similar, but not quite as identical. The woman, his grandmother, had the same eyes as Tom, as his father but otherwise looked quite different.

"Who the devil are you?" demanded Tom's grandfather. "What do you mean by entering without permission?" Instead of replying, Tom walked forwards and gracefully threw himself into an unoccupied couch, unconcernedly putting his feet up on the leather. His grandfather stood up, getting more irritated now. "Get off my sofa! I'll have you removed at once. Johnson! Johnson!" he shouted.

"They can't hear you," Tom said nonchalantly, twirling his wand over his fingers. He noticed his father focusing on the wand and going pale. Obviously Merope had left an impression. The oldest Riddle turned to him scowling.

"What the devil do you mean? Get out!" Tom smiled thinly, the humourless expression slowly spreading itself across his face.

"You think you can order me about, muggle filth?" he asked calmly. Knowing that these three would be dead within a few moments made him magnanimous. Riddle scowled further and his face went purple with anger at the way he was being addressed. He took two steps forwards, raising his fist as if to strike Tom, when his son stood and blocked him.

"Father, you don't know what we're dealing with." He pushed his father back to his seat and confronted Tom himself. "You're one of them, aren't you? One of _her_ kind." Tom applauded softly.

"Well done, mudblood. Now, can you guess my identity?" He looked at his father and saw the dawning realisation in his eyes.

"You're…you're Merope's child." Tom snarled.

"Have you forgotten who supplied the seed for my conception?" It was as if a dam had broken. Words long buried suddenly rose and almost choked Tom with their power. "Have you forgotten who it was who abandoned my mother in London, pregnant and destitute? Have you forgotten who consigned his son to an orphanage because he was too lax to take responsibility for his own actions? Did you never think of returning, if only for the child?"

"I did not know," replied Riddle simply. Tom snarled again and sprang up, shooting a Crucio at his father, drinking in the fear and pain that then filled the atmosphere. A movement attracted his attention and he cast a body bind just in time to catch his grandfather. The man thudded to the ground and his wife screamed.

"Devil!" she shouted. "Spawn of Satan!" Tom's eyes lit with hatred and he shot a sickly green curse at his grandmother. The light enveloped her and she slid to the ground, her eyes vacant.

"Mother!" shouted Riddle who lay panting on the ground, recovering from the agonising pain of the Cruciatus. He turned angry eyes to Tom. "What have you done, you little bastard?" Tom regained his composure, now feeling entirely in control of the situation. He chuckled slightly, walked over and kicked his father in the ribs, making him gasp.

"You have no conception of the power in my hands, do you little muggle?" He smirked and kicked his father again. "With two words I could wipe you out. With one I could make you kill your own father and rape your mother's corpse. With another I could make you feel that pain again. Would you like to have that? Imperio." His father's eyes glazed.

"Yes," he intoned. Tom chuckled again and released the curse.

"Who am I to deny a dying man's wish? Crucio." Riddle's screams were like music to Tom's ears and he enjoyed every second. Releasing the curse, he positioned his father so he was watching his own father and then froze him in place. "Now, it's only good manners for a father to die before his son," Tom said in a mocking, lecturing tone. He cast the Avada Kedavra again and the oldest Riddle in the room slumped, obviously dead. Tom looked into his father's eyes and laughed at the pain he saw there. "Oh don't worry. You're not going to have to mourn them for long." He unfroze the man.

"You're a monster," his father said weakly. "You're going to go to Hell when you die." Tom smirked.

"Then it's a good thing I'm not planning to die, isn't it. Get up," he ordered. Riddle spat at him with all the strength he had. "Get up," he ordered again "or…" he thought for a moment, then smirked cruelly "I'll make you rape your mother's corpse. Maybe your father's too." He chuckled maliciously "Wouldn't that be fun?" Riddle struggled to his feet and swayed weakly, shaking from the Cruciatus. Tom faced him and raised his wand.

"Goodbye, father," he spat and shouted the Killing Curse once more. The corpse of what used to be his father keeled backwards. Tom chanted the words he had said once before and bent forwards as the pain twisted his guts. Panting, he straightened and looked at the ring on his hand. It seemed to glimmer in the light more than it had before. He turned and walked to the entrance of the mansion with nary a backward glance.

Tom Riddle had walked into the mansion, but the man who was destined to become Lord Voldemort walked out.


End file.
